


Bird's Eye View

by hieromagus



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieromagus/pseuds/hieromagus
Summary: Fero Feritas is a bird for the day.





	

In the heat of battle it happens quick as lightning. On this beautiful morning, though, Fero luxuriates. He stands on the balcony of the inn he’s spent the night at and stretches with the dawn. He looks out over the city, taking in the sights and smells, the feel of fair Velas. He remembers his time in the mountains; the crisp, clean air and the frosty peaks. He makes a decision

Today, he will be a blackbird.

His form contracts. The spirits within him pour out, becoming feathers and talons, keen eye and sharp beak. He hops up onto the ledge and surveys Velas with bird’s eyes. It’s not his city but it’s the one he’s chosen. He takes flight.

In a moment, he is soaring. There are bird spirits within Fero, multitudes with lifetimes of experience being birds. He is as close to an expert on flying as any non-bird can be. He catches a thermal and he is lifted skyward. The city - the one he chose - is laid out beneath him. He can see bars he’s drank in, people he’s talked to, cats in alleyways he’s made a night in. In this moment high above Velas, Fero is happy with his choice. One can say a lot about Velas, but it is always interesting.

He glides long and low through the streets of the Garden District. He can hear the bees sing their song in harmony, pollinating the flowers that line the street and adorn the houses. The wind against his feathers is exultation.

He lands at a cafe. It’s one he’s been to before. He’s visited it often with friends, drinking hot teas and people watching. There are many cafes in this city he has chosen, but this one has the best tarts he’s ever tasted. Times, unfortunately, are tough, and Fero’s pockets are empty. He remains a bird, settling on the cafe patio’s railing.

There are so many people here. Fero knows that just in his small jaunt to the cafe, he has flown over more people than there are in all of Rosemarrow. For years still he only kept company with animals, and that was fine, but the people are overwhelming.

A server exits the cafe with a beautifully constructed apple tart, and - to Fero’s surprise - leaves it on the empty table next to his perch. He’s confused a moment, when a cloaked figure sits next to him.

Lem King smiles and Fero chirps. It has not been too long but this is a pleasant surprise. They chat idly - or rather, Lem does. Fero enjoys his tart and chirps in agreement. He knows it’s sometimes more important to be here than it is to talk.

When the tart is finished, Fero flies away. He’ll see Lem again. Maybe they’ll do something for High Sun Day.

Fero goes high. He takes a detour for an hour into the Sun District. He flies long, low, lazy circles above the people baking like clay in noonday heat.. He wanders aimlessly on the breeze. After some wandering, he orbits around the Temple of Hieron. From this height you can see the whole city, out to the ocean. He can almost hear the waves.

Fero takes silent pride in the fact that he’s the only one who has ever seen the city like this. He is grateful that he may look on this city with all its problems and beautiful parts, and truly see it for what it is. He appreciates his bird's eye view.

From inside the tower, he can hear the sermon of the Prelate. He wonders if he can see Hadrian. He flies slow by the window, and sees him, in the first pew, rapt at attention. Hadrian looks to the window and nods, as gentle as the breeze. Fero would smile if he could.

He takes himself lower again to the ground, flitting among market stalls and attractions. He lounges among crowds of pigeons and fights swallows for crumbs. It’s all good fun. Just the way birds are.

In a small park in an alley he sees an old, old elf talking with a younger, stranger one, too hot in his winter cloaks. He is not interested in Fantasmo and his friend. He sees the dog, the massive thing, beside the younger elf. Fero has seen many dogs in his time. He knows a good dog when he sees it. He chirps a greeting to the pup (the dog is younger than Fero, certainly), and they chat idly, about things that dogs and birds have in common (food, mostly). He flies off having made a friend. He’s seen all his friends today.

He sees Hella, too.

Flying over the Fish District, he sees her. It’s hard to miss her, or the way her sword catches light in that peculiar Ordenan way. She’s haggling for fish at the market. When Fero sees her, he averts his eyes. When he looks back, she is looking at him. She meets his gaze.

No one ever looks up, thinks Fero. That’s one of the things that makes Hella different from my other companions. He hopes she got a good deal on her fish.

Fero flies until the sun goes down. He flies everywhere. This city, the city he chose, is deep in his bones. He almost didn’t notice when he started to become a part of this city, but since the last time it happened he has become wiser.

He lands on his balcony, and luxuriates. He becomes himself, same as he always was, stretching out and standing up. Then he ventures down the stairs, and has hearty stew and watery ale and good conversation.

Fero Feritas is exhausted when he goes to bed. When his head hits the pillow, he is already dreaming about what he will be tomorrow.


End file.
